


The Saint and the Sociopath

by badass_normal



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badass_normal/pseuds/badass_normal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven years ago they were just a pair of teenagers with a taste for the pretty and pretentious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Saint and the Sociopath

The roadtrip was one of those impromptu _things_ that she did sometimes without really thinking through the consequences. Her parents would of course be livid at her unexplained disappearance, her commandeering of the second car, and her total disregard for the truancies that would tarnish her school record, but she could put that from her mind for now, because the whole point of this little excursion was to get the fuck away from an increasingly more claustrophobic Wheeling and the decaying , boozed-saturated slop that was her family.   


It was a long drive from West Virginia to Illinois, marked by a drastic change in landscape. The lush, forest-blanketed Appalachians of her home state abruptly flattened into what seemed to her a wasteland of corn fields sliced cleanly down the middle by the empty interstate, and it was quite possibly the ugliest horizon-line Gretchen had ever chased in her life. It was all for the better, then, that the shale-grey expanse of road was utterly devoid of cops who cared, and she could burn rubber up the highway at ninety-five zoning out to the honking of her daddy’s Beethoven cassettes. She was partial to symphony nine, movement two, and its unbeautiful, unashamed, unpleasant noise, and perhaps she just liked it because it was a terrific antidote to the overrated Ode to Joy that followed it by two movements.    


Rita was not surprised to see her when she sped onto Loyola’s campus, because daddy had called with an affectionate _when I get my hands on that crazy little whore/bitch/cunt/shit-eating piece of ass_ and her sister wasn’t stupid. In fact, Rita was probably the smart one, although Gretchen spent a lot of time wondering if it really mattered.    


Carelessly tossing her overnight bag onto the floor, Gretchen flopped onto Rita’s bed, brushing a few fingers through her overwhelmingly thick hair, listening to Rita make some excuse about a physics review session. She did not pay particular attention, until her sister mentioned the guy she was going with. A brilliantly attractive boy whom not even Gretchen could hope to sink her claws into. Appetite whetted, she then silently rose off of her sister’s bed and opened her bag. After tracking down her sleek black makeup case, she flounced over to the room’s mirror and began examining different colors of eye-shadow, although she ideally needed to know something about the guy before selecting a ‘look.’ To seek perfection for her face. Finding the flaws and preparing to do her best to conceal them.    


After all, she could create a thousand faces with that makeup. One of them was bound to be enticing enough to a simple physics nerd.    


\--   


Michael walked through the door and snatched Gretchen’s breath from her frantic lungs. She found his eyes first, and they were cerulean the first time they graced her with their curiosity, darkened by the lighting in the bare dorm room past what she would eventually learn to recognize as their standard shade of crystalline blue, because in the near future their most common method of sexual intercourse would not be with their bodies, but with their eyes.    


The less prominent but just as important features were processed in good time. His skin was a shade of beige-brown, so clear she could imagine vividly how it would slide under her fingers. Black stubble-like hair covered his scalp, and his petal-shaped lips were the exact color of however pink a natural blush could be and his chin a dull triangle with a smooth jaw. According to his oval face, to his eyes, he was utter perfection in terms of beauty, and to Gretchen that was perfection in all that mattered. She understood why her sister had referred to him as a land-locked angel. But he could not be called a mere angel, not with a name like Michael.    


As he and her sister exchanged pleasantries, she observed. He looked at things differently, like he was drinking in his surroundings, bingeing on even the most ordinary of sights. His eyes somehow remained focused on Rita while they saw all there was to see in the room, including her, perched on her sister’s crisp bedspread like a cougar gazing at the potential prey and wondering how she dared to consider conquering a personified archangel.    


When he introduced himself, he extended a hand that displayed digits sculpted into long, intricate fingers, and when she took it, she could sense the first step of solving the detailed enigma of fate completing itself. It is perhaps needless to say that Gretchen accompanied her suddenly inanimate sister to the physics review session, slipping into her heels in order to coerce her hips into their most seductive sway.    


She ignored the interested gazes of involuntarily celibate physics students that followed her because of her own attractiveness, remaining fixated on the glow of Michael Scofield. She watched how he scribbled down every word the TA spoke, how he never seemed to need to blink. She wondered if the aforementioned TA could feel the burn of Michael’s cold blue eyes.    


\--   


Michael walked through the door and Gretchen snatched his breath from his frantic lungs. There was no particularly good reason for such a phenomenon to occur, since the first time he saw her he did not think her at all attractive. She was a miscellany of extremes, her hair too black and her skin too white and her legs too long and her waist too tiny and her lips too red and her eyes pale enough that from a distance they appeared unfocused, glazed, blind.    


Perhaps his breathing hitched simply because her appearance, while momentarily unappealing to him, was nonetheless fascinating. To eyes obsessed with details, she was at once jarring and a feast of unusual features. Or perhaps he had the cosmic foresight to subconsciously predict that she would someday accidentally make herself a dark little home under his skin, and that was the moment of gravity he sensed when he saw her.    


Either way, he had to pause at the entrance to make sure he was in the right room, caught sight of his friend Rita, said hello. She explained that the unfamiliar girl was her little sister Gretchen, a junior in high school. Mentally, then, he calculated her age to be either seventeen or nearly seventeen, based on the time of year. Two or three years younger than he was. And while he wanted to call the glint in her eyes playful, there was something malevolent about it too.    


But when he introduced himself, and she shook his hand and offered him a smile, he thought he must have imagined it, because her smile, while not necessarily warm, was interested and friendly. Close up, he decided that her dramatically painted lips were actually pretty and her looks not as harsh as he had initially thought. Her cat-eyes were still unnervingly fierce, but he acclimated to the rest of her easily enough. In fact, within five minutes he had recanted his original judgment that she was unattractive. Which was a compliment to her, because since Michael couldn’t help his obsession with structural and physical flaws, there were very few women he didn’t find unattractive.    


He was slightly surprised that she expressed a desire to accompany him and Rita to their review session, but had no objection. And when he felt her eyes on him for the next ninety minutes, he barely managed to refrain from smiling.    


\--   


He supposed that the girl (Alexa? Alice? Alison?) was attractive by anyone else’s standards. Running his hands down her torso, forcing his fingers to not stop and examine her ribs, he allowed her to rub her ass seductively against his crotch and held her tightly in return. The world was jumping a little, the music blasting through his body, and he was on complete sensory overload yet loving every second of it.    


Because across the room he could see her. Another guy had solicited (the friendly term) her company in the mob of drunk students and she was writhing to the base of the music for him, eyes wide open and fixed on Michael. Just watching her was about twelve times more erotic than dancing so closely to his partner but he remembered her wishes, that she wanted to watch him touch the other girls.    


Gretchen’s brown tank-top clung to her, the barest hint of a white bra-strap sexily showing itself at the shoulder. His eyes left hers for a moment to fix on the swell of cleavage, as he moved his hands to the girl’s breasts. She arched into him, and he grinned briefly at her uninhibited behavior. He watched the other guy’s hand splay over Gretchen’s pelvis, and he mimicked his actions on his own partner. Alyssa. Her name was Alyssa. But that didn’t matter in the slightest.    


He was beginning to understand why Gretchen had requested this of him, as he watched the young man’s hands map out Gretchen’s body and her response to their touch. There was a curious blend of arousal and jealousy garnered from it. He so wanted, needed, to be the one touching her, but then he wouldn’t be able to watch like this. Wouldn’t be able to watch the way her hips gyrated, her chest rising and falling with exertion, her hands covering the guy’s own. Her manicured nails black in the lack of light.    


She was smiling a devilish smile at him, and the guy dancing with her was clueless. They had eyes for each other, locked together, irresistibly attracted. The noise, the others, the hands sliding over her body and the body under his hands—all of it was background. Useless. Meaningless.    


They continued their foreplay in this manner, swapping partners and watching each other, jealousy and fascination mutating into unbearable desire, and when he finally had his hands on her, they immediately slid down to where her short skirt ended. She was moving against him, then, and he felt people watching them. He wondered if it was so obvious that they were all but copulating in the middle of the crowd.    


Slowly his right hand slid up the inside of her thigh, and she turned around so she was facing him, slinging her arms over his shoulders and pressing her firm breasts against his own chest. Her damp underwear indicated her arousal, and she ground gently into his hand in time to the music. He was hard in a moment, slipping his fingers into her, parting moist folds with the tips and coaxing a gentle moan from her mouth.    


The alcohol spun through his head as he fingered her, rubbing at her clit with the heel of his hand and slamming his fingers into her. He was subtle, the lights low enough that hopefully no one could tell that they were up to anything other than hardcore dry sex, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she dissolved all over his hands, lips parting and face buried in his chest.    


She could obviously feel his erection prodding her hip, as she took his hand in hers and erotically, graphically licked her orgasm from his fingers.    


\--   


She didn’t need to ask if they were going to do it against the wall, because so far their nonverbal communication had had nearly telekinetic-like accuracy and she knew by the way those long strong fingers pried with unprecedented urgency into the low cut of her shirt as soon as they got into his dorm room that he wasn’t interested in making it to the bed. Her breast fit generously into his large palm, his fingers splayed on her side, all while his tongue proceeded to plunder her willing mouth. She returned the favor eagerly, taking his face in her hands as he kissed her and squashing her body against his.    


The soft noises vibrating against her lips were indicative of his impatience, and although she knew that he’d been turned on for awhile now, when she opened her legs around his she was still surprised by the iron-hot and hard denim-covered cock pressing against her pelvis. To know that it was all for her, that she could be a source of arousal for this man, made her even hotter for him, and her hips began to take up a similar instinctive rhythm to the one she had performed on the dance floor. Her feet found the wall behind them, her heels high enough that she could prop herself up and remain lifted from the floor without Michael’s assistance.    


This left him free to tear at his zipper and bunch her skirt up around her waist, hands moving painstakingly slowly up the tops of her thighs as they went, and her nerve-endings ignited at the feel of skin against skin, the fingers that only minutes ago had wrenched a filthy, public orgasm out of her once again bringing heat to her loins. But this time, they wrenched her legs further apart and as he positioned himself at her entrance she found herself gasping in anticipation. Her hand locked behind the nape of his neck and she kissed him once, slowly delving her tongue again into his perfect mouth, before pulling away and pressing their foreheads together, nodding subtly.    


At her sign of consent he slid into her easily because of her wet, slick arousal, and she felt him bite back a groan at the feel of her surrounding him. He placed one hand on her tilted waist, planted the other on the wall next to her head, and began moving within her, literally showing her the oldest dance mammals know.    


Within moments, her head was thrown back, neck twisted to the side, and she was panting through the hot pleasure building in her center. As his persistent thrusts slammed her into the wall, he was blazing steel inside of her, penetrating her again and again until he was buried so deeply into her tightness she couldn’t be sure that they were still two people with their own wills, their own orgasms to pursue. His fingers found her chin, turned her to face him so their lips could easily meet and break apart in a series of violent and frenzied kisses that she could barely feel even as they bruised her.    


His fingers dug into her waist more tightly as her heels dragged down the wall behind him, leaving dark lines in their wake. The dress was sticking to her molten body from the sheen of sweat that came from the effort of this particular dance. Curved knees cradling his torso. Her hips bucked in counterpoint to his, creating a delicious friction that embodied the way they could move so well together even if the movements were in conflict.    


That familiar tidal wave swelled in her core, bringing with it a knot of unbearable golden fire that suddenly exploded, drowning her in the throes of a consuming climax that his primal growl shared with her, proving her theory that for now, there was no separating the archangel from the icy little teenager determined to make him hers.    


They slowly returned to reality, her feet finding the floor beneath her. He held her gently, placing one last delicate kiss on her lips. For a moment they stood face to face, basking in the mirroring of blues in each other’s eyes.    


\--   


Three months later, after about six weeks of deliberation, Gretchen sat in the abortion clinic, wishing for the first and last time in her life that she had someone to hold her hand and realizing that The Devil wouldn’t give a shit about terminating a pregnancy and wondering who won, who lost, and if there was ever a contest to begin with.    


\--   


The loft was sterile, greys and whites inside, with the bright skyline of Chicago seeming to melt into his apartment through the picture window. At night, there was blue and yellow and silver, and he didn’t need to move anywhere to be somewhere.    


Veronica, tipsy and flirtatious, stumbled into his arms, her petite yet curvy frame light in his hands. He held her for a moment, studying her features for the first time in years not as a man with LLI but as simply a _man_, one capable of casting cold judgment, one with desires and needs that weren’t always easy to meet with his _choosiness_. In a purely superficial way, Veronica came very close to the standard of beauty against which he had compared all other women. Sleek, thick black hair that gave way under his fingers, skin so light in color, mouth uniquely asymmetrical. Blue eyes. But she was…soft. Not physically, and not in any usual sense of the word, but rather, her eyes didn’t carve through him like glass, or really look at him. They were open to his seduction, rather than performing one of their own. Michael craved the sensation of being hunted, wanted to be a conquest. He thought of demons rising against angels, pinning them down and fucking them.    


But it was a time long past, a distant memory of a single date and a dance. He would never have it again, so he would take Veronica. There was a faint resemblance. Of course fate interceded, his brother called.    


And three years later Sara was something new to him. A different definition of beauty. One he maybe preferred. Red hair, a flush to her cheeks, dark eyes, slim. And most importantly, she was like him. She was radiant, a force of light. Her eyes were kind, and he seduced her as she made him fall in love. They burned without exploding. They _talked._ They were of one mind, not attracted to each other by vivid contrast, conflict, friction.    


And sometimes, he dreamed of Gretchen. But that was only the part of him that thought like an immortal. Michael the human lived in reality. He had grown up. Maybe she had too.    


Although she did remain tattooed on his body.    


\--   


More than a decade, and they still communicate with only their eyes. Verbally, she denies killing Sara. To him, she’s smiling a challenge. He speaks the only words that have ever mattered between them.    


“I’m coming for you.”    


The chase begins.


End file.
